Time
by Cashala
Summary: Over a year since the Infection first hit, Nick, Ro, Ellis, and Coach are still together. Time has changed quite a bit - their bond is stronger. However, something is bothering Ellis ... Seasonal one-shot rated K for some snark, no violence, no pairings.


_Having clocked over seven hundred hours of L4D2 time (yes, I have no life), I have to admit that I love these characters, though some more than others. Today I give to you my first fan fiction based upon them. This is post-Parish, and after their escape from the military or whatever else may have happened. If I ever get around to it I must admit I'd love to write something up for them, but I do have my own zombie apocalypse series to consider ;3_

_In any case, on with the show!_

**Time**

Time. It was always something that Nick loathed; he hated how it tricked people, tricked _him_, making the good times seem short and the bad times seem long. And, he had to admit with a wry laugh that had Rochelle giving him a worried look, those were the only times they had these days. She gave him a hand gesture, asking his status, and he gave her a thumbs up. To this she tsked, shook her head, and looked back over the wall concealing them from a milling horde.

It was just the usual, as Nick had taken up to calling it. One of them - it was usually Ellis, the kid was nuts and did the stupidest shit even after a year of the Hellhole previously known as Earth - got hurt or sick - that one was usually Coach, Nick didn't call him Old Man for nothing - and that left them with one option: hole up, find supplies, and split up to do the latter. This had led to some nerve-wracking experiences, to say the least. On more than one occasion Nick found himself praying to a God he knew could not possibly exist for them to get out alive, and if he couldn't make it then let the others.

On this particular occasion, they had lucked out. Coach had only aggravated his old football injury so, while he wasn't about to run a marathon, he could give them cover fire along with Ellis from the buildings surrounding them. All they had to do was make sure they stayed within sight, or at least in radio contact.

"Baby boy, could you _please_ tell Nicky to get off his pretty face out of the clouds?" Rochelle suddenly said. The former conman sat bolt upright before slouching down again, knowing full well that if one Infected got a good whiff of him they would be screwed. The radio in her hand crackled to life.

"_Nick, c'mon, man, I'm freezin' m'ass off up here!" _the hick complained. A red dot hovered in the snow by Nick's feet and he glared up at the Southerner's sniper nest. Nick lifted his arm and presented his hand, only realizing when his new family started laughing that the effect was lost in the knitted fabric of his mittens. He let out a volley of curses to show his dismay instead and crouched, an axe in hand as he led the way to the side door straight ahead.

Yes, time is a fickle thing - but why, when it did not even matter which day of the week it was - did he still keep track? Tiny rows of notches hidden on a piece of paper he kept on his person, one added each and every day since their escape from the bridge. Once, Coach had caught him at it, and he had told him it was to keep track of exactly how long they were 'safe' before everything blew up on them again. The former football star had just given a noncommittal grunt and had not mentioned it again, even when Nick's prediction came true.

Rochelle quickly dismantled the lock, her long fingers much better suited to the task than Nick's. This long after the beginning, they rarely had to worry about alarms anymore. The electrical grid was virtually nonexistent. It popped open and he gave her a satisfied smirk, a teacher happy to see his student excelling. A small push and it was open, Rochelle beckoning with a smug smile of her own for him to lead the way. He quickly obliged, though if his actions were because of their increased chances of detection or the blistering wind was anyone's guess. A quick sweep later and Rochelle closed the door behind them.

Weak winter light filtered in through grime and snow covered windows. The stench of the dead at rest and the sick who killed them had stagnated in the confined space. The radio was set up on a counter and switched on by Rochelle for easy communication - something Ellis proceeded to abuse with zeal.

" - hey, guys, did I ever tell ya 'bout the time, when we was in the Tunnel o'Love, and we got split up, and Nick, he -"

"Overalls, finish that story and I'll make you eat your hat," snapped Nick. Despite the fact that everyone knew he was joking around, Ellis switched gears, babbling about how much he missed his overalls. Using the background noise of his friends' quiet chatter, Nick poked around the store. This far North there were still quite a few goodies and he would be damned if he left anything useful behind. Opening a box in the back, he rifled through the contents before knocking it aside to continue his search. He could hear Rochelle doing the same on the opposite side of the store, backs to each other. Suddenly, he came across something that had him freezing in his tracks.

A calendar. A 2010 calendar. Glancing around with emerald eyes, he fumbled with his pocket and took out the paper. He quickly tallied them all, eyes roving over the groups and clusters, and using the calendar he picked out the date. His heart stopped, eyes growing wide.

"Nick? Sweetie, you alright?" Rochelle asked from behind him, the hand she put on his shoulder doing little to settle his nerves. She frowned as Coach and Ellis' concerned voices sparked over the radio but she got no response from the ex-con himself. Finally, he snapped out of it, turning around with his trademark smirk as he hid the calendar from view.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Ro," he said, voice soft. A bit louder, he added, "Ellis, get the old timer to calm down before he has a heart attack, will ya?"

Ellis laughed, watching his comrades through his sniper scope as Coach kept an eye on the rest of the world. "Sure thing, Nick. Over'n out." He slipped the radio into his pocket, leaving his friends to scour for food. Beside him, Coach chuckled, the sound somewhat different from when they had first met not only due to age but his changing physique. A year on the run, fighting for your life, can easily trim a man down to size. Ellis glanced to him, an frosted eyebrow raised in silent questioning.

"You. You're finally learnin' to keep ya mouth shut. Way back when, you never stopped chatterin'." The comment wasn't meant as an attack, and Ellis knew it, but he still found himself a bit ticked off by it. Going back to surveying the wintry landscape, he kept silent, leaving Coach to fill it with noise. His thoughts soon drifted back to Savannah, his _home_, and his heart let out a deep pang of longing. He missed his life. He missed his friends, his family, his job, his hometown - and it only got worse. He still put on a front, but lately it was slipping more and more. He let out a sigh just as the radio crackled to life, Rochelle announcing that they were ready to go. It was time to go back to the safe room, their newest temporary home.

Ellis was the first to retire that night, as he usually was these days. He didn't see the worried glance Nick shot him, or think anything of Rochelle checking on him a few hours later. She apologized profusely when she saw he was awake, but he just brushed her off, telling her he had yet to fall asleep. Looking into his listless blue eyes, Rochelle bit her lip and left, knowing that he was telling the truth.

One day, Ellis brought up the subject of moving, though reluctantly. Everyone around him gave each other looks, though he missed them as he was busy chasing his meal around his bowl. Rochelle spoke up - it seemed that she was the only one to do so these days - and laid a hand on his wrist. "We thought we'd stay here for a while, sweetie. There're still a lot of buildings around here with good supplies, and the perimeter's secure." She gave him a tentative smile that turned into a frown when he didn't return it.

That night, he woke up to hushed whispering and a hammer being used. Having just fallen asleep a few hours earlier after a particularly taxing day, he wasn't as alert as normal when he sat up, a hand on the pistol beside his mattress immediately. The trusty Glock sat nicely in his hand, the cool grip a familiar and comforting feel. Checking to make sure it was loaded out of habit despite being able to tell by the feel it was, he crept forward, socked feet muffled on the carpet. In the hallway his eyes narrowed against the glow coming from downstairs, and his ears perked up as he tried to place the sounds. It was definitely his friends - they were whispering still, and moving around, carrying things from the sound of it - but there was a fourth voice. He frowned. There was no way it was another survivor, they hadn't run into anyone for so long, and they were well hidden, so what -

" … _candy canes and silver lanes aglow -" _He froze in his tracks before eagerly starting forward again, going a little faster, a smile crossing his face and holding there for more than a few seconds.

"_It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, toys in ev'ry store_ -"

He was nearly running now, and he stopped at the foot of the stairs, a hand on the tinsel-wrapped banister as he took in the softly glowing lights and Christmas decorations all around them. Coach was in the corner, wrapping a few presents, his leg elevated to help with his knee. Rochelle was perched on Nick's shoulders, nails in her mouth, a hammer in her hand, and a trail of garland wrapping around her neck. They all had festive clothing on, from Coach's knitted sweater to Nick's Santa hat and Rochelle's reindeer headband.

"Keep it steady, Nick! You keep making me put holes in the wall!" hissed Rochelle, giving Nick a playful slap on the head. He grumbled, readjusting his grip and steadying for a moment.

"This'd be a Hell of a lot easier if we had a ladder, you know."

"We wouldn't have had any room to hide it and you know it."

This banter carried on for several more minutes as Ellis continued to take in the decorations, and his eyes finally fell on the Christmas tree. In a lapse of attention reminiscent of the old Ellis, he stepped forward, forgetting about the creaky bottom step. Immediately everyone was looking at him, Rochelle wielding the tool in her hand fiercely. He didn't even seem to notice.

"Ho-lee _shit_," he muttered, still star-struck as he turned around. Glancing over to the table, his jaw nearly dropped. A canned Christmas dinner was lined up there. The others gave him a few more minutes, all going back to their tasks though they kept a careful eye on him, wanting to see more of the old Ellis - the Ellis that had gotten them through so many hard times. Finally they were done and Rochelle hopped off of Nick's shoulders to walk over to Ellis and hug him. Giving him a peck on the cheek, she murmured, "Merry Christmas, El."


End file.
